Enchant Me
by varletun
Summary: The Chronicles of Narnia, Book VI, The Last Battle, and after that, too. A ficlet of fluffy proportions: Updated, and finished, I say! No more wheedling! I have exams! You are tempting me to write!
1. I

Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis is shrine-worthy. He owns all.

Rating: PG

Jill glanced deftly up through the canopy of darkened treetops, towards the glinting stars, quickly calculating her bearings and moving forward. Her heart drummed and thumped nervously in her throat, and excitement and adrenaline pumped through her body as she looked back and beckoned them forward. Tirian's eye caught hers, and the sudden intensity of his gaze startled her. Furrowing her eyebrows and looking away, she realized she was shaking. But this was no time to falter. She had to concentrate.

The king Tirian knew. He could not say how, or why, or when, but nevertheless, he knew.

The king was enchanted.

He wondered at it from that second, as he watched her eyes, luminescent beneath the moonlight, fall so easily, so perfectly, into his own. This mysterious, captivating child had come to him – by fate, by Aslan, surely! – out of the blue, of the sky, like... like an angel of some sort, at the risk of sounding ignorant.

This unusual, lovely girl with just the right manners and humility to attract and intrigue him, with her straightforward honesty and easy smile, had brought the king down to his core of humanity.

He tried reasoning with himself after the initial amazement had worn off.

How could he love a lady from another world? She would leave him, he knew she would, eventually. It said so in all the stories, all those old Narnian tales that he'd heard before from his father and mother. The friends of Narnia always left – it was Aslan's will, was it not?

And surely she could be no different than the many princesses across the Narnian border through the Western Wilds, and from places ever farther than Archenland and the Lone Islands that he had met so oft before – and yet...

He watched her, eyes searching, and for a brief, wild moment he felt at peace.

He chided himself.

There were other things at hand, and now was not the time for him to dream of future things. He followed her lead, cautiously scanning the forest for any sign of a Calormene, trying frantically to ignore his growing feelings, at least for now. It was to no avail, for even in this did she impress him. She led them with a quick confidence and courage that he admired increasingly. She even seemed to speak with the trees, the stars, as she found their way through to the Calormenes. He could not help but whisper to Eustace, hoping the desperate emotion he felt within him did not show in the shaking of his voice. "By the mane, this girl is a wondrous wood-maid. If she had Dryad's blood in her she could scarce do it better." They continued, listening, watching.

And then – in a sudden, horrible moment, he noticed the silence.

The silence hung heavily, despairingly in the cold night air. Narnia was a dead land – where were the usual sounds of joy from his people? He clenched his jaw and fists, anger surging within him towards the Calormenes and that great, greedy liar of an Ape.

Aslan was not here – surely not! Surely this could not be His commands! For was it not His blood that saved all of Narnia from the cruel, evil White Witch that fateful day? Surely it couldn't be Him causing such distress and fear in the Narnian people!

Jill slowed down, and he quickly focused once more to his task at hand, an even stronger determination fuelling his spirit with every step. Silently, he watched her glide down to the ground. He leaned over Eustace's form, stretching to see what was in front of them. All of a sudden he felt a warm tickle of breath at his ear, and Jill's voice. "Get down. See better."

All kingly thoughts of avenging his people and honouring the true Aslan flew out of his head. He hoped against hope that she had not felt the way his heart had leapt in his chest, or the way he had leaned slightly into her warm, lithe body. Sucking in his breath and getting his ragged breathing under control, he snaked downwards, laying next to her.

"Well done," was all he could whisper out without sounding a complete stuttering fool. The Calormene sat uselessly outside the stable, where Jewel had to be. She let out a fast smile, and he quickly went into action.

---

The solemn walk home to the castle was disheartening. Even Jill's light concerned touch on his arm did not make him feel any better. Oh, the Dwarves! How could they turn away like that, from the truth? Save for Poggin – by Aslan's mane, thank the stars for Poggin. All hope would have been quite lost without him.

A lump formed at his throat and he frowned, and sighed.

"Your Highness? Don't frown so. You'll get frown-lines, doing that." Her lighthearted teasing held a worried chord to it, and he almost cracked a smile at the thought of her worrying about him.

"Sweet child, your words alone would melt any frown of mine away."

He glanced down at her, and saw her let out a pleased, friendly smile at his kingly, kind and sincere words.

Through the stillness, Eustace's voice called out, "Finally, we're home at last! Good night, everyone; I'm beat and I'm going to bed."

With tired cheers, lazy waves and yawns all around, they dispersed, Jewel and Puzzle outside, with Poggin, Eustace, Jill and Tirian in the bunks.

It was turning into a restless night.

"Sire... are you not yet asleep?"

Eustace and Poggin had long since fallen into their dreams, as had Jill, or so he had thought. In the quiet calmness, her mellow whisper was a pleasant intrusion into his jumbled thoughts.

"Not yet, Lady. You, however, ought to be."

She stood from her sitting position on her bed behind his, and walked till she was in front of his bunk.

"How is it with you, Sire? Don't be discouraged. We still have lots more that we can do."

He smiled, and sat up, then motioned for her to come and sit beside him.

Carefully she did, as his gaze held hers.

Comfortable, easy silence fell. He watched her in the dim lighting, tracing the curves of her cheeks, her nose, her lips with his eyes. She was beautiful at such a young age, perhaps about 15, or 16 – so young in comparison to his 21 years.

"Sire?"

"You are beautiful, fair maiden."

She looked away from him, awkward, down at the stone floor. He wondered if she had heard the wrecking emotion in his tone, but continued.

"I apologize if I make you uncomfortable, but..."

His own thoughts overwhelmed him so much so he could not complete his words. That fear of almost losing her, the horror of the thoughts that had run through his mind at the stable when he thought he had lost her, and the utmost admiration he had encountered as she defended the name of the true Aslan in front of those poor, misled Dwarves...

She turned towards him now, and worry seized him as he caught sight of a tear in her eye. Impulsively he reached out and lay a hand on her trembling arm. She was cold, and he immediately wanted to cover her with his blanket, perhaps, or light a fire for them both, anything that might help...

He felt her tense, and speak.

"Your Highness... I can't. You're... You are the king of Narnia... and I... I might leave any time, by Aslan's will, you know it is so...!"

He didn't listen, refused to think again of what she had said, refused to let himself feel the dread and helpless horror once again.

Pure instinct and impulse caught hold of him now, and he knew in a blinding flash, with an terrible urgency, that he could not – would not! – let her go.

Kingly duties and self-sacrifice and logic were rudely shoved aside in his mind as he leaned in.

Catching her cold, soft lips in his mouth, he pulled her to him, his hands gently gliding up her shaking arms. It was a soft kiss, one that he wanted her to remember – even if she did have to leave. Especially if she had to leave. The thought sent tremors of fear up him, stronger than ever – but surely not! Surely not by Aslan's will! Not with him feeling this way –

He pulled away, carefully, anxiously, nervously, joyously, fearfully all at once, but left his hands upon hers. He spoke before she did.

"Dear Jill, I should only pray that you would pardon my boldness, to-night. It is all I can do, to put my feelings into my lips against yours, and there is no more I can say beyond that..."

He waited, breathless, and she was quiet for a moment.

"Sire..."

Already having slipped into recklessness, he cut her off quietly.

"Surely, fair lady, you would please me by calling me by my name?"

He saw her smile in the darkness, and look down at their entwined fingers. Her smile made his heart lift in hope, in love.

"Tirian... Tirian... I..."

She looked up now, tongue testing, tasting the feel of his name, and it felt like eternity as they looked, contemplating, into each other's eyes. Her eyes searched him, as if looking for an answer to a question she had not yet asked.

She leaned forward slowly.

She was cautious, and yet... held a degree of fragile, wild abandon. Gently, ever so gently, she placed a kiss just by the side of his lips. Her hands brushed around his arms, and around his waist as his breath caught in his throat.

"Pardon me, Your Highness, tonight, but I think. I think I might love you."

And the echoing words could scarce part from his lips.


	2. II

Disclaimer: C.S. Lewis is turning in his grave for what I'm doing with his work. :O

Rating: PG-13?

Notes: For Jolena, Fimbrethil, Greenbean, and Starbrow. You wheedled one right out of me, and this is long overdue as a thank you, even if it's not (I think) better than Part I. Tell me what you think, if you'd like. If you wouldn't mind. :D-

- - -

"You should have been a Queen. You would have been my Queen."

Jill smiles as she feels kisses barely there against her shoulder in her dreams, but her eyes open slowly to the thought that it feels too real to be a dream. Eyes searching the shadows, only to find no one. She gives one last sleepy gaze around the darkened room, and then falls back into the arms of sleep.

The Narnian morning sky – the new Narnia, the new world of wonder and perfection and amazement – is rich and blue and for some reason Jill imagines it would taste like Aunt Penny's homemade blueberry tarts. She grins wildly as she steps out of the castle, pulling the folds of her dress around her. It's beautiful, this is. She always wondered, before, what Heaven would be like. She never could have imagined this.

She guesses it has been about a week since that great, giant door of the shed closed upon the old Narnia and the old England.

Since then her senses have been assaulted by an onset of dreamlike flawlessness, an overwhelming torrent of pleasure and purity and adventure. So much, so much to see and do and discover. Lucy and her are children forever, in the day. The hills that sleep and seem to yawn with each magnificent break of morning light, the mist of pearl that hovers in the seaside caves. They explore a new land everyday, taking their time. There is no end to the adventure, no end to new places and each day they return to the castle at Cair Paravel and have supper in the Dining Hall with the eastern doors that look over towards the miles of waves breaking on the shore.

Jill closes her eyes and relives the sunshine and remembers the places they've seen so far. Each day seems like a year, here, not that it is boring or long-winded: it is simply that each minutes brings forth such a new burst of joy and laughter that one cannot help but savour every second, and with so much of that, time moves along quite languidly and pleasantly.

Edmund and Peter and Eustace do boy things, like archery and racing in the sea. They follow along to the caves sometimes, but they'd much rather sword fight with the many Kings of Narnia than have picnics with the girls.

Everyone is happy here, everyone is safe. Aslan is here, all the time, and Jill finds she never tires of simply lying down at his great paws and hearing him whisper against her cheek as crowds of Kings and animals and giants and all others do also. Somehow Aslan is always big enough, strong enough to speak to each of them, and Jill always wonders in amazement at this.

She opens her eyes. It has been a week. Her eyebrows furrow. The night times are ... confusing. She feels the kisses, the brushes against her cheeks and her hair and her lips, and at first she knows for sure that it is Tirian who is coming to her in the stillness of night.

And then she sees him the next day in the Halls, in the corridors and he merely smiles and nods lightly at her, continuing on with his friends or his father or Jewel.

And then she thinks maybe she isn't so sure.

A murmur of wind brushes against the cloth and she shivers, not so much at the cold as what the wind against her neck reminds her of.

_Tirian. Tirian._

Jill frowns, perplexed, as she thinks it all through. They hadn't spoken after that first kiss, that first night in the Tower. Somehow, everything just moved too fast, too brutally into the force and the climax of the last battle, and he never spoke to her again outside of battle instructions and kingly advice.

What is she to do? Does he regret that night? _Kissing _her? Is that why he won't speak to her the way he did?

With the typical anxiety of a 16-year-old girl with a schoolgirl crush, she notices that she has been obsessing endlessly over him, frowns further more.

_But can you blame me? He kissed me! **And you kissed him back, Jill. Maybe **_**you_ took it too fast._**

She groans as she sits heavily on the steps of the castle.

And besides that, she knows there is more for her to worry about.

It was 2 days ago, in the early afternoon. Eustace and Edmund were bronzed by the glorious warmth of the sun, and were lazing about idly, floating atop the waves. She sat happily on the shore in her thin cotton dress, knees pulled up to her chin, enjoying the smooth feel of heat on her body and the fine grain of sand cushioning her. Suddenly, she heard Edmund give out a yell to further along the beach, and, squinting, saw Eustace join him in eagerly beckoning out. Curiously she fixed her gaze to her right, trying to see if Peter or Rilian had come to join the boys.

They floundered out of the water, grinning, and Jill put up her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the stark light of the sun, still unable to define who that figure on the beach was.

All of a sudden, she knew. Eustace had a grip on one side of the figure, Edmund the other, and with playful insistence were dragging him to the shoreline, yelling something about a race. The figure laughed, and gamely began taking off the cotton shirt and riding pants he had been wearing, to match Eustace's and Edmund's sparse dressing.

Barely 20 feet away from her, stood Tirian, in nothing but his silk undershorts, arms defined and calf muscles being revealed from underneath smothering riding trousers and his upper torso hard and taut and _oh-Jill-look-away-look-away-NOW-NOW-NOW-this-is-**NOT-RIGHT**_

Her mind and heart were in the right place, but her eyes simply would not listen as she continued to stare with something of a fixed hunger (she realizes later in horror) at this dark, lovely man in front of her with his muscles rippling against skin and dark cocoa hair flying frivolously in the sea breeze.

Jill groans again and slumps her head into her hands. She remembers that day on the beach far too well, she decides; there was no need for such _detail,_ _surely._

She feels dirty, unclean, and she is in Aslan's own country, how can she think such terrible things? In the old world, it was all right, she supposes, but in _Heaven!_ Such absolutely, blatantly _carnal_ desires have no place in this pure, wonderful place, **surely!**

She has never, ever felt so at a loss before on what to do. She's always been brave, and headstrong, but – love? She would rather attack a few Dwarves than try to tackle _love._

But- no. She has to handle this, and as the sounds of the others float in through the hall to her corner on the steps, she knows what she must do.

- - -

She steps politely, nervously into the Dining Hall. A feast of grapes and bread and meat and wonderful sauces of all kinds is spread out, as every day, across the tables. Aslan walks along the tables, leaning down, whispering or simply touching a loving lick to the skin or fur. She swallows, and approaches him, skittish, pushing away the excuses to stall this for just one more day away from her mind.

He stops the moment she takes the step towards him, even though she is behind him. He is silent, and Jill lowers her eyes to the floor, suddenly feeling naked and unworthy of something, but she can't be sure what.

"Aslan... Aslan, I'm sorry."

Her parents always said honesty was the best policy, and who else can she ask advice from? She has to tell him, she has to.

He turns, his glory shining like a thousand suns from his being and he walks towards her, past her, to the door and out. Somehow she knows she is to follow, and does.

They walk, in silence, and slowly Jill finds her tears falling. The grounds of Cair Paravel are big, and they walk along the quiet edges of the stone wall.

"A-Aslan..."

Her confusion and guilt is a mess, a terrible, unclean mess in her and she feels upset that Aslan who called her "beloved one" and "dear child" isn't doing anything to help her.

He stops, and so does she. As his face turns to hers, she falls to the ground, sobbing. After a moment warm breath and a loving paw is nudged against her.

"Hush, child. I know. I know."

With his words the sobs subside, and she dares not to look into those great, terrible eyes, fearing what she might see.

"I don't know what to do, Aslan. I'm so sorry... This... It isn't right, not here..."

With a rumble from him that makes her think vaguely that he is laughing, he speaks, lying down beside her and pressing his mane against her face, drying her tears that are falling from her eyes.

"My child, do you think that dishonesty, or hatred, or cowardice could ever be sustained in my presence?"

She wonders why he asks her this, but ponders this for a moment, gently calmed in the feeling of Aslan supporting her with his flank.

"N-No. Whenever you're around, everyone feels like being good, and everyone loves everyone else. And you make me feel brave, all the time."

"Then, sweetheart, do you not also agree that in my country, things such as fear, or greed or malice, or impurity have no place?"

"Of course... _Oh_..."

She looks towards Aslan, feeling his deep, searching eyes still her worried spirit.

"So you mean..."

"My dear, lovely child, you are so young. Love is not something to fear, or something to shy away from. This is my country. My presence is always here; what impurity can reside within you when I am here?"

Jill looks down again, and feels an awkward smile creep, unfettered, up her tear-stained face.

"Aslan, it's rather embarrassing to think about what you know, you know, I mean, even if it's okay..."

That amused rumble again, and, "Jill, Daughter of Eve, you deserve more love than you think you do. Now, go, child, and be at peace."

With that, he presses his nose against her back, and she giggles like the child she sees herself in his eyes.

- - -

The darkness falls, and Tirian's frustration, he feels, is unparalleled.

_Every night, you stupid man. Every single night. Don't you think she notices? You've seen her wake up at it! And you're supposed to be the wise, last King of Narnia! _

Like a moth drawn to the flame is the image that sears in his mind, and, as every night, he tiptoes guiltily into her chambers, standing in the shadows, watching the surreal sheen of the moonlight caress her cheekbones, her brow, her lips. He shudders inwardly at his memories of kissing those cheeks, that nose, those soft lips, and yearns for it once again while hating this unrequited attraction ever more.

He steps forward, assured by her steady, deep breathing that she is quite certainly fast asleep.

Fingers, that's all he uses, now. No lips, no palms like before. She woke up immediately the one time he kissed her.

Fingertips.

Fingertips, hot and shaking against cool stretches of her neck, her jawline as it curves into her soft lobes. Her eyelashes cast semicircles of shadow against her cheeks, ebony as crow's wings, and he thinks, each time, that dark angels have landed on her eyelids. The moon is a sliver, and plays with the shadow, covering her sleeping form in silhouettes of the trees outside her window.

He bites his lip to stop from calling her, waking her up and telling her how much he needs her.

He remembers her fingertips, firm and needy, pressing against his arms and entangled in his hair. Inwardly he moans –

_As if she would even come back to someone so much older than her like you, Tirian. Eustace, or Edmund; you know she would do fine with either of them. You aren't even from her world! She didn't even _look_ at you after that night, let alone want to touch you again..._

He starts back into the shadows as he feels her shift out of slumber. It would be horrible for her to find him here. He knows, without a doubt, that for her to find him and to push him away would be to break his heart afresh.

He stays in the shadows, inching closer to the door, waiting for her to fall back into deep sleep so he can escape.

He panicks quietly as he realizes she is sitting up.

He panicks quietly as he realizes she is looking far more awake than she ought to be.

He panicks as he realizes he can no longer panic quietly because he is about to hyperventilate.

He feels himself going faint as she opens her mouth to speak.

"Tirian, stop. You're... hyperventilating. I can hear you, please come out. Please."

He does as she says, stepping away from the corner of the room, eyes wild and unfocused and widened in horror.

She steps out of bed, pushing her blanket off from around her shoulders and walks towards him. He feels like a deer, caught and unable to run. She is standing in front of him, now. Her fingers are as warm as he remembers – no, warmer – as she takes his hand in hers. No more of kingly wisdom or calm, or respectable, slight losses of control.

It slams into him: He was spying on her in her sleep. He was _spying _on her in her _**sleep!** _

"OhbyAslan'smaneJill,IamsorryIamIamsososorry..."

She silences him with a squeeze on the hand as she pulls him closer, and for a moment he is distracted from his thoughts of _stupid, stupid Tirian _and self-flagellation as he notices the smirk playing on her very, very kissable lips.

"Be quiet, Tirian. When I say "I love you", I _mean it_."

It takes 20 full minutes of kissing, embracing and warm breaths on cold stretches of neck before Tirian asks, "What took you so long, you _tease_?"

He gets a nip on the chin for this, before she answers.

"I had... issues. Which I'm sure you do too, and we will talk this over later. After. Much later, because now, we are busy."

He pulls away from her mouth sucking on the hollow of his collarbone and looks determinedly down at her.

She looks back up, eyes and frown silently questioning and protesting the abrupt lack of contact.

"... You're beautiful."

She blushes, and moves in to kiss him once again. He kisses her fully, teeth grazing achingly on her lips, then pulls away once again.

"Marry me. Marry me and be my Queen. Please."

The last word is a plea, a reckless hope and his heart is already preparing for the slam of the rejection or the uncertainty that is sure to come.

Sure enough, her eyebrows furrow, but her answer isn't any of the options in his head.

"... Is that even allowed? Marriages? Because this is sort of like a different dimension than before, really, so how does it work, do you know-"

He laughs, in spite of the vulnerability he feels, and kisses her forehead like a father to a daughter, silencing her musings.

"Yes or later, fair maiden?"

"What if my answer is neither of these?"

He looks into her face, his own falling as he processes her answer, before he notices the wicked gleam in her eye. She grins, and kisses him on the lips again, seemingly insatiable.

"Yes, yes, of course yes. Always and forever, and you will be my King."

His grin breaks across his face –

"... On one condition."

- and falters, eyes narrowing warily.

"Anything you wish, sweetheart."

"You have to stop constantly wearing long silk shirts and vests and court outfits during the day. You are not at court, so I don't see why you must. You will walk around in _shorts _and cotton _T-shirts_ and if you've never heard of those, go talk to Peter or Edmund; they have lots to spare you."

His baffled silence prompts her to explain.

"Tirian, my love, you cannot fathom how absolutely stunning you look when you are not wearing a shirt and are swimming about in nothing but your underthings."

It is his turn to blush and she gives him a feral grin as she remembers the image again, this time with a definite fondness.

She kisses him one final, lasting time before pulling away.

"Now, go. We both need sleep, and then we have a wedding to plan. If it's even done in Aslan's country."

Finally he smiles and brushes a tender fingertip against her cheek.

"Promise me you won't ignore me in the morning, my sweet Jill."

She closes her eyes as he kisses her gently on the shell of her ear, letting forth the free fall of trembling emotion finally, finally, with a torrent of something exquisite and terrible and wonderful flowing like the waves crashing on the rocks of the shoreline and in a breath she promises, she promises, she promises.

And they wait for the morning.


End file.
